Between the Bars: Logan
by ns.108
Summary: A not-canon-but-not-not-canon look at the relationship between Mike Logan and Claire Kincaid through seasons 4-6; mention of Jack McCoy/Claire and Liz Olivet/Mike, if you squint. M for some language and suggestive scenes.
1. VII

**Title/Author:** "Between the Bars: Logan" by n.s.

 **Rating** : T (minor language, some suggestive scenes)

 **Summary** : A not-canon-but-not- _not-_ canon take on Mike Logan and Claire Kincaid's relationship through seasons 4-6; acknowledgement of Jack McCoy/Claire, also

 **Disclaimer** :I don't own any of these characters. This story is brought to you by 20-year-old repeats of Law & Order that happen to coincide with my daughter's nap time.

XXXXXXX

It was June. He had to testify in Manhattan that morning, and he had just known, from the moment he got up, that he would see her.

"Long time, counselor," he said to the back of her head, waiting for the elevator, less than 10 minutes after he arrived.

She turned around, and her mouth formed a surprised _O_ as he gently squeezed her elbow in a half-hug.

"Mike!" she gasped a moment later, and completed the hug, wrapping her arms quickly but tightly around him. "Too long," she whispered before breaking the contact.

"I like the longer hair," he told her when she stepped back from him, and tried to decipher if her smile was sad because of him or something else. "Are you in court? Or do you have time for a coffee"

"Always."

It was the perfect summer afternoon in Manhattan, and she took off her blazer as they walked to the cafe, showing her arms that had thinned out just enough for him to notice. She smiled, laughed at his jokes, and casually bumped his arms as they walked, but her head was bowed and her eyes didn't quite smile with her mouth.

"Talked to Lennie," he said after they sat down at the cafe, watching as she stirred her coffee intently. "Said that Scott S.O.B. whose lights they're putting out next week was yours."

She didn't look up, just scoffed. "Me and everyone else on the case."

"Yeah, but he said you and McCoy really lowered the boom," he set his coffee down, watching her seem to sink lower into her chair. "You all right, Claire?"

She finally looked up, her eyes glassy.

"Honestly, Mike, I'm not sure," her voice cracked, he thought, but it was hard to hear over the din of the other customers. She looked down again, swallowed, and then looked up with steely eyes. "I'm thinking of quitting."

He held her gaze for a brief moment before he said, very matter-of-factly without any surprise, "You won't."

She let out a humorless laugh, and shook her head.

"I don't know how much more I can take."

She was trembling when she brought the cup of coffee to her lips. He felt that same sinking feeling he always did at moments when he wished he was wrong but he knew he wasn't.

"You're one of the good guys," he said finally, now looking down into his own coffee.

"You always put me on a pedestal," she remarked, tears gone from her voice.

He shook his head.

"You won't quit. It'll kill you first."


	2. VI

**Title/Author:** "Between the Bars: Logan" by n.s.

 **Rating** : T (minor language, some suggestive scenes)

 **Summary** : A not-canon-but-not- _not-_ canon take on Mike Logan and Claire Kincaid's relationship through seasons 4-6; acknowledgement of Jack McCoy/Claire, also

 **Disclaimer** :I don't own any of these characters. This story is brought to you by 20-year-old repeats of Law & Order that happen to coincide with my daughter's nap time.

XXXXXXX

"I can't sleep." He stared at the light from her window through the phone booth.

Silence, tense, until:

"I'm finishing the sentencing recommendation—for Krolinsky," she stumbled over the name, knowing it was probably what was triggering this entire conversation. "I won't be very good company."

"Alone?" he asked, feeling his pulse in his ears.

"Yes."

"Then let me be another lump on your couch."

"Mike—," she began, but he interrupted.

"I just…can't fucking sleep, Claire."

She came down a few minutes later, the same Harvard tee shirt on as that night in Flaherty's. Without a word, she opened the door and they walked upstairs.

"Coffee? Tea? Scotch?" she broke the silence once the door was closed and locked behind them.

"Whatever you're drinking." He hung his coat in the closet next to her bedroom as she made his drink. The door was open, and he instinctively made a move to go inside, but caught himself before she saw.

The sheets were tangled on the bed, sheets he remembered fondly. They were nice. She had a lot of nice things. You could tell she came from money that way, because she had _nice_ things, but they weren't flashy. Just nice enough that you got the sense she could have been living anywhere else, doing anything else, with anyone else. She had always reminded him of Liz like that. Good family, fancy degree, smart as hell, but she lived in a four-room, third-floor walk up on the West side with no buzzer, she worked for the state of New York, and she slept with Mick cops.

 _Mick lawyers, too,_ he thought, and she broke his reverie by handing him a drink. They stood outside the bedroom door together, neither moving towards or away for a beat.

"Do you want to talk?" she asked as she took a sip of her own drink, watching him over the rim.

"You said you had work," he countered, moving away towards the couch.

She watched him sink into the cushions. "Okay."

She went back to her paperwork and he watched M*A*S*H repeats, sharing silence more easily than either of them ever did with anyone else.

He didn't know how much time had passed when he felt her hand on his shoulder.

"Mike," she whispered.

"Hmm."

"It's six. I'm going to the gym."

He opened his eyes and saw her over him, her hair pulled back and her face spotless of makeup.

"Okay," he murmured groggily, wiping the sleep from his eyes. She had pulled a blanket over him and taken his shoes and tie off. They were sitting underneath and folded on top of the coffee table.

He was splashing his face with water in the bathroom when he saw the first and only trace of him there.

A man's razor in the cabinet next to the mouth wash. He gargled the Listerine and didn't touch it.

In the kitchen, he leaned on the doorway as she poured coffee into a paper cup and handed it to him.

"You love him, don't you?"

She paused, but then turned her back to him before answering, "I think I do."

"Does he?" he asked as she poured herself a cup.

"I'm not sure," she replied, still not turning to face him.

"Well, he's not stupid."

She turned then, coffee in her hand, and frowned at him.

"What does that have to do with it?"

He stared into his cup.

"I was stupid."


	3. V

**Title/Author:** "Between the Bars: Logan" by n.s.

 **Rating** : T (minor language, some suggestive scenes)

 **Summary** : A not-canon-but-not- _not-_ canon take on Mike Logan and Claire Kincaid's relationship through seasons 4-6; acknowledgement of Jack McCoy/Claire, also

 **Disclaimer** :I don't own any of these characters. This story is brought to you by 20-year-old repeats of Law & Order that happen to coincide with my daughter's nap time.

XXXXXXX

He prepared himself to avoid the conversation as long as possible, but it didn't matter, because she never brought it up. Months marched on and they never talked about where it was going.

Every night, he was sleeping in her bed. If it was really late she was already there, wearing barely anything and warm and soft from sleep, and he would collapse next to her and only fall asleep after her legs slid between his calves and she laid her hand on his heart. If it wasn't, he'd let himself into the apartment with her spare and she would crawl in later, curl against his back with her forehead nestled between his shoulder blades.

His caseload always seemed worse in the winter, as if people didn't have anything better to do in February than whack their friends and family, and the last thing he wanted to do after investigating a guy beating the life out of his 10-month-old was to fall asleep in his cold sheets alone. She, on the other hand, had McCoy keeping her burning the midnight oil almost daily—and when he had a little too much to drink, it took a lot for him not to march into his office and punch that lace-curtain bastard right in the mouth—and the way she held on and barely let go of him until her alarm went off for the gym, he knew they were keeping each other afloat.

One night she called him at 8 and left a message with Gina. When he called her back, she asked him to pick her up for a late dinner while she had a break. As he hung up the phone and went to sign the log book, his shoulders felt momentarily lighter and his step quickened to the car.

But when she opened the car door and smiled at him, _because_ of him, for some reason suddenly he could barely smile back.

"Thanks," she murmured against his unsmiling mouth a moment later, "I needed a break."

"Don't mention it," he replied, "Where to?"

"Not sure, somewhere close. Chinese?"

"Fine," he replied.

As the car glided the next few blocks, each of her comments or questions were answered with grunts, until she sighed and stared out the window, asking, "So, are you going to tell me where the land mine is, or let me find out the hard way?"

"If you want to cross examine someone, I'll drop you back with McCoy," he said tersely, refusing to meet her gaze as he made a right turn.

"I just wanted to talk," she said softly, adding, "I missed you."

The air in the car seemed heavy, suffocating. He pulled to a stop at a light.

"Just a shit mood today. Sorry."

Dinner came quickly, and they didn't linger over drinks or dessert. He pulled up to the courthouse an hour later.

"I'll see you later?" she asked.

"Sure, I'll call you when I leave the precinct."

"Okay."

She kissed him one last time, on the mouth as they had a hundred times, and then turned to leave the car.

He caught her wrist and pulled her back, kissing her again, trapping her against him by holding her wrist against his chest. It erased at least most of the tense evening, and she pulled back with eyes smiling and cheeks pinched pink.

"I'll see you later, Mike."

He left the precinct at 12, and didn't call her. His phone erupted in the silence of his apartment around 1:30, rang four times, and then went to the machine. He listened to it all from the couch and she didn't leave a message.

He slept alone in his apartment for three weeks before he saw her and McCoy eating dinner at Szechuan Dragon. Her hair was in loose waves.

The calls stopped a week later, after one voicemail—

" _It's me,"_ a long pause. _"I hope you're okay. Call me if you need me."_

—and whenever he saw her, he called her "Counselor."


	4. IV

**Title/Author:** "Between the Bars: Logan" by n.s.

 **Rating** : T (minor language, some suggestive scenes)

 **Summary** : A not-canon-but-not- _not-_ canon take on Mike Logan and Claire Kincaid's relationship through seasons 4-6; acknowledgement of Jack McCoy/Claire, also

 **Disclaimer** :I don't own any of these characters. This story is brought to you by 20-year-old repeats of Law & Order that happen to coincide with my daughter's nap time.

XXXXXXX

"So how was he?"

Claire sat up, his bed sheet wrapped just below her breasts, her face confused. Not exactly immediate post-coital conversation, but he was in a mood ever since he heard the news.

"McCoy? He was fine," she replied, regarding him with a raised eyebrow.

Mike scoffed, tapping his fingers on his bare stomach.

" _Fine_? That prick is never _fine_."

"Jesus, Mike."

Claire swung her legs over the side of the bed and reached for a shirt, settling for his white button up.

He watched her fingers fasten the buttons. "Did you find out why he requested you?"

"My talent?"

"Right."

"Excuse me?" she snapped, turned to glare at him. He looked away.

"That's not what _he's_ thinking about," he continued.

She smiled, crawling back onto the bed to kiss him. She lay across his stomach, leaning her elbow, cupping her face in her hand.

"Green isn't a good color on you, detective," she informed him with a smile, toying with his sparse chest hair with her unoccupied hand.

He moved his eyes to lock with hers.

"You two share the same bad hobby, taking work home."

He saw the hurt, immediate and intense, but only for a moment. She moved off of him and off the bed.

"I regret it more some days than others," she remarked, pulling her panties back on. He caught her hand before she could leave, and it made her meet his eyes across the bed.

"Just let me know if it ever gets too crowded, counselor."


	5. III

**Title/Author:** "Between the Bars: Logan" by n.s.

 **Rating** : T (minor language, some suggestive scenes)

 **Summary** : A not-canon-but-not- _not-_ canon take on Mike Logan and Claire Kincaid's relationship through seasons 4-6; acknowledgement of Jack McCoy/Claire, also

 **Disclaimer** :I don't own any of these characters. This story is brought to you by 20-year-old repeats of Law & Order that happen to coincide with my daughter's nap time.

XXXXXXX

"So, who is she?" Lennie asked, bringing the car to a stop behind a garbage truck in a midtown traffic jam.

"Who's who?" Mike asked distractedly through his hand, leaning on his elbow as he stared out the window at the other faces in the traffic.

"The girl. The one who has the moon hittin' your eye like a-big pizza pie," Lennie replied with a smile showing his teeth.

"You're way off the mark, Lennie," Mike assured him hollowly.

"My mistake," Lennie surrendered after a meaningful pause.

"Well, not completely. I could go for some pizza. Stop at Romano's."

They pulled in to the pizza place a few blocks down, deciding to wait out the traffic with lunch.

"Mikey, I only asked what I did before because—," Lennie began again over his sausage slice, before shaking his head. "Never mind."

"It's not a big deal, Lennie. Just a girl," Mike finally admitted, sighing. Why he even felt compelled to lie about something he would normally have mentioned on his own, he didn't know. Maybe it was because he hadn't, and Lennie had figured out himself, that spoke volumes he was trying not to hear.

Lennie smiled again, knowingly this time.

"Just a girl with the power to indict you if you piss her off."

"It's after school hours, only," Mike said sternly.

"Sure," Lennie agreed. "Look, I'm happy for you."

"You just don't want me to screw it up," Mike finished the thought for him, looking away at anything other than his partner's meaningful gaze.

"Call me an old softie. She reminds me of my oldest."

Mike wiped his mouth and dropped the napkin on his plate gruffly.

"Is there some kind of fatherly advice coming my way right now?"

"I wouldn't dream of it," Lennie said, dropping the issue. "You're lucky she's Irish."


	6. II

**Title/Author:** "Between the Bars: Logan" by n.s.

 **Rating** : T (minor language, some suggestive scenes)

 **Summary** : A not-canon-but-not- _not-_ canon take on Mike Logan and Claire Kincaid's relationship through seasons 4-6; acknowledgement of Jack McCoy/Claire, also

 **Disclaimer** :I don't own any of these characters. This story is brought to you by 20-year-old repeats of Law & Order that happen to coincide with my daughter's nap time.

XXXXXXX

Something changed during the Rudman case. She called him out of the blue one afternoon when he was drowning in a sea of paperwork. He picked up his phone thinking it was Eichmann returning his call from OCCB, but it was her and even though their interactions had barely made it past drinks and dinner, with little more than fleeting physical contact—who was keeping who at arm's length was pretty much a tie—there was an intimacy when she spoke this time.

" _Meet me for a drink?"_

It was 3 o'clock, and a Tuesday, but he could hear that jagged edge scraping through her voice on the phone and felt pulled towards it.

He met her at Flaherty's an hour later. She was sitting at the bar and her hair was down again, sticking out from under an old Boston Red Sox hat, and she was in jeans and a faded Harvard tee shirt.

His drink was cooling on a napkin beside her, designating the seat, and he slide onto it, brushing her gently from her shoulder to her elbow in greeting. She smiled the quick, tight, reserved semi-smile he'd seen her give so many people in the office and didn't exactly meet his eye.

"Rough day, counselor?"

"You might say that, detective," she said darkly, finally meeting his eyes with her own and raising her glass slowly. "Here's to law degrees, and the very valuable paper they're printed on."

He returned the gesture, tapping her glass lightly with his own.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"No."

"All right," he agreed, taking a sip of the beer.

They polished off four more rounds over the next two hours. When they left, his tie was unknotted and he had an arm slung around her waist, and she was giggling into his shoulder and had looped her arm around his midsection.

"You know, you'll get killed in this city wearing this," he remarked as they sauntered to the corner to hail a cab. He flicked the bill of the Red Sox cap, and she grinned up at him before pulling him down for a kiss that surprised him with its intensity.

"That's what you're here for, right?" She asked his rather stunned face a moment later, barely breaking the kiss so she practically said the words into his mouth, "To protect and serve?"

They took the cab to her apartment. Two hours later, as she drifted to sleep with her head cradled on his naked stomach, he smoothed back her hair behind her ear and said, "You know, Claire, I lied to you."

She visibly stiffened, but didn't turn her head to look at him.

"The truth is, I _do_ hate lawyers," he finished.

She smiled so wide he felt her cheeks move against his navel.

"Me too."


	7. I

**Title/Author:** "Between the Bars: Logan" by n.s.

 **Rating** : T (minor language, some suggestive scenes)

 **Summary** : A not-canon-but-not- _not-_ canon take on Mike Logan and Claire Kincaid's relationship through seasons 4-6; acknowledgement of Jack McCoy/Claire, also

 **Disclaimer** :I don't own any of these characters. This story is brought to you by 20-year-old repeats of Law & Order that happen to coincide with my daughter's nap time.

XXXXXXX

It began unremarkably. He asked her for dinner, she said yes.

No fireworks, no secret longing—on his way over in the cab, part of him figured it would probably end up being a bust after everything, but one worth checking out anyway. She was damned smart, undeniably attractive, and she had an edge—a jagged edge that led to a darkness he couldn't put a finger on but his detective instincts knew was there and that his own dark side was curious about.

She showed up to the first date with her hair in loose waves and a blue sundress that made his eyes linger on the tanned inch of skin it showed above her knee. It was June and they met in Little Italy for veal and red wine. She picked the place—respectable, old Italian joint with untouchable food—and after the waiter brought the wine and they touched glasses, she said:

" _And here I thought you hated lawyers."_


End file.
